Way Back When
by Dwarfey Joe
Summary: This fic from the point of view of Wolverine, showing his thoughts as he finds himeself fighting criminals one night. Throughout it he flashes back to one mission with the early X-men, and contrasts it with the crime-fighting of today.


A/N: This fic is about the new Marvel universe and mirrors some of my own frustrations with it. As you may be able to tell I am not so up to date with certain parts of the Marvel universe, so there may be a few mistakes and parts lacking elaboration. Apart from that it's pretty simple, you may need to know some Wolverine back story to fully understand some parts, but it's not crucial. I'm new at comic book fics so please review and let me know what you think and any way to improve it, it would be much appreciated.

I lean against the wall of some brick building, facing the loud and unforgiving streets of New York. I'm out on the midnight patrol, but nobody recognizes me in my street clothes, so I light up a cigarette. I glance up to see my patrol partner perched on the edge of a rooftop looking down on the city, concealed by darkness above the speeding lights of the streets. It's one of those things all of the new kids do. They think it's what we're supposed to do and it makes them feel cool or something. He's wearing bright yellow and orange spandex, not exactly the most subtle colors, but I can't say that I haven't looked similar. I know they want to protect their "identity", but they think they need a flamboyant costume to separate themselves from the madmen running around the city in ski masks when really there is no difference; something they have yet to realize.

They say it makes them tactical or aerodynamic, but with the exception of wings or something, it's no different from fighting in street clothes. Really, all you need is a mask. I don't really need to protect my identity anymore; the only people that would be able to figure out who I really am already know, and I'm way too old to be on any police records. It's all just another element that they all think they need, a costume that goes with their "theme".

Heh, a theme; that's one thing I never did have. I remember when the theme was just _being_ a super hero. But now there are types, classes, guilds, ranks, and who knows what else. Just more crap to keep us interested in it and even rope in new ones; well it all worked. I remember when you could just say the word superhero and people thought of certain brave and unique individuals; now it's practically a demographic. You just need to skim the rooftops of New York at night and you won't be able to get down a whole city block without bumping into one of us. Hell, I bet my partner up there is in shouting distance of another jerk off trying to "better the world." Yeah right, if that's what they want to call it.

By now there's no more crime to stop; in fact there's almost a shortage of it. Too many times I've run into a bank being robbed just to see three other heroes tackling the guys all at once. No plan, no strategy, just a full on attack that is only successful through sheer numbers, as if it were an army rather than a group of heroes. How is that honorable? Aren't superheroes supposed to be the epitome of justice? How can we be if these new kids work like this, going around acting more like celebrities? We used to take them on with some sort of skill and tactic, as if it were a fight, not a bar brawl. But I guess that kinda thing isn't really necessary when you've got unlimited backup. Superheroes used to fight against the numbers, not be the numbers, but that was way back when.

All of the sudden I see my neon partner shoot up onto his feet and scan something off in the distance. I put out my cigarette and look to him, waiting for some signal. He looks back at me and nods his head towards the intersection three blocks off. I glance around the corner to see a rush of people flooding in one direction down the bright and crowded street. I turn around and take a back alley that leads to a complicated route of turns and twists that I've memorized and travelled hundreds of times. I go without thinking, trusting my feet to know the way.

My partner takes the cue and begins prancing around rooftops to the street corner. I bet on those rooftops it looks like a herd of superhero gazelle rushing to that one spot right now. I begin to slow my pace farther down the alleyway as I remember the very first time I travelled this way. It was back in my early days, just having joined the X-men. I was no newcomer to superpowers, but I had never tried the whole hero thing. It was my first "observation" mission on the team, I had never been on one like this before, but they thought maybe I should learn it. I thought it was pretty stupid, but I was still new.

We were observing some local street gangs that had some possible mutant connections to higher organizations: maybe the Kingpin, or even the Brotherhood. All of our investigations gave us nothing, and I was headed back to the rendezvous point to meet up with Storm and Cyclops. Stench bathed the shaded and empty alley, yet I walked along relaxed and unaware. I turned a corner to see a man in a ski mask pointing a shotgun at me. I had no idea how he had been following me without my noticing, but I knew that he had to have been.

I flung out my claws and ran at him, ducking under his first shot aimed towards my head. His next shot came when I had reached point blank range and hit me right in the gut. His eyes widened as he watched my abdomen regenerate and I took the chance, first using my claws to split his gun into three pieces, and impaling his chest with the other hand. My hands shook as I withdrew the claws, my entire body pumping with adrenaline. That was pretty long ago, I don't feel that adrenaline rush much anymore. I don't think I can remember the last time I felt that.

I'm pulled out of my memories by a yell somewhere further down the system of alleys. I sprint down the path and around a corner to find two criminals running away from the sound of alarms and screaming where the crime had just taken place. With them they are carrying a long steel case that I assume is filled with money or jewels. They immediately drop it at the sight of me and grab for the guns at their sides, but before they can even get their hands on them I am in front of them. Without even thinking about it, I automatically stab into their arms with my claws, grasp their necks, and throw them both against the alley wall, incapacitating them.

Not bothering to hesitate, I continue to run towards the end of the alley without offering any thought to the encounter. Soon, I exit the alley to the open road. I am now facing a warehouse building that has a huge hole where its wall used to be. I look up to see my partner arrive on the rooftop of the building. He immediately jumps down into the building and I hear sounds from the subsequent brawl.

I follow him into the gaping building, the inside of which is still enclosed with darkness because the whole block is blacked out. It is not until I enter the dust covered warehouse that I begin to wonder how the warehouse wall was destroyed and why the whole block has blacked out. I see that the warehouse is filled with weapons, enough to supply an army. It must have been used for weapons smuggling, and this local street gang must be trying to knock off the mobster operation. I don't know what a local street gang would be planning with a warehouse full of weapons, and I hate to think what they could do with it. Just as I work out in my mind what could have been within that metal case, I hear a whistling outside of the demolished building and turn just in time to see a hand rocket hit the ground in front me. I'm hurled backwards by the force of the small fiery explosion at my feet that lights up the whole warehouse. I hit the ground with amazing force that sends my mind back to the alley, years before…

After defeating that armed assailant I ran to find Cyclops and Storm, who were nowhere to be seen, when I was apparently being followed by dangerous enemies. Learning from my previous blunder, I stopped and examined the area. As I expected: I sensed at least three other goons approaching from other alleyways three buildings back. They were close enough for me to smell their sweat, but I knew I could take three on my own.

They were moving quickly, but still remaining silent, thinking they had the drop on me. They reached the main alley I was in, and peered around the corner, but only saw an empty alley, occupied only by graffiti.. I crouched on the edge of the fire escape directly above their heads, looking down on the group that resembled three bumbling ducks in a row, waddling towards the same scrap of bread. I tapped the railing of the fire escape with my claws and descended on top of them as soon as they looked up at me.

My landing struck the middle thug square in the chest and I pinned him down. Simultaneously, I landed a blow on each of the thugs on either side of me. The punch from my adamantium fists broke both of their jaws and fractured one's skull. I bent down and extended my claws, pressing them against the throat of the man I now pinned down.

"Just tell me what I need to know, Bub." I growled.

His only response was a shout that, followed by the loud crashing of people jumping from rooftops to the ground, and the breaking of half the windows in the alley way. I had been messy, and stupid; half the gang had been following me. Now I stood, surrounded by twenty or thirty enemies, most of them armed, with Cyclops and Storm nowhere in sight.

There was no way out of this, but I was never the type to run anyway. I cut the throat of the man under me and dispatched the three enemies who ran at me immediately afterward. The last one I held with my claws into his back, holding him up, using him to cover the wave of gunshots that came at me from the front and then flipped him over my body to cover four more shots to my right. I dropped him, and before they could get off any more shots I rolled forward, only to come face-to-face with a cluster of five opponents. They were all on the ground within five seconds.

Behind them was what seemed to be a full force of criminals preparing for my next attack. I made my way through them with alternating hacks and rolls and dodges from bullets and knives alike. I made a final slash down the chest of an opponent and when he fell I found myself facing a wall. I turned to see more than half of my foes still standing, pushing forward and cornering me. I was outnumbered, with my back against a wall; it was an unfair fight, even against me. I'd fought plenty of people before, and killed lots of them; it wasn't the first unfair fight I'd been in, but still, I never could stand the people who set up an unfair fight.

I stood in a defensive position, ready for the onslaught of criminals. They all came at me at once. I ran forward to meet them, claws extended, and mind fierce, but just as I got close to them, a glowing red concussion blast hit three of the men in front of me and all of the others stopped and moved back. Cyclops stood on the rooftop above me with his eyes pointed at the crowd below. For the first time ever I saw Cyclops as my much needed savoir.

"Where's Storm at?" I yelled to him, not seeing her anywhere around him.

"She's not here yet." His response was somewhat disheartening, but not discouraging. We didn't need to destroy them, and at least now it was a fair fight. With Cyclops covering me from the rooftop, I managed to slice down the entire line of criminals in front of me and fought my way out with a path Cyclops had created. I turned and looked back at the depleted gang, with me on one side and Cyclops above them on the other; we could easily have defeated them. But they were now in the position that I was in just moments ago, and I would not take advantage of that. I leaped back up onto the fire escape I had used before and made my way to the roof. From there I regrouped with Cyclops and we left the scumbags for another day. We walked away, and kept our honor in tact.

Suddenly, I leave the rooftops and Cyclops' side and enter my present situation. I regain consciousness, lying on the floor of the warehouse. I don't know how long I had been out, but somehow I am untouched by any of the gang members with the explosive weapons. The warehouse is still in complete darkness, but I can see out into the street where men in masks are standing. Understanding came to me; the fight must have made its way out of the warehouse, and into the public. I run outside in the hopes of protecting any innocent bystanders, but there was no need.

When I get outside I realize that the men in the masks I saw were fellow superheroes, at least four more have apparently appeared on the scene so far. Out in the street stand maybe fifteen gang members, two with automatic assault rifles they had stolen, another two carrying the rocket launcher that had put me out. The rest have shotguns or handguns. I stand with my five other allies, ready to defeat this normal street gang.

"You heroes can't take us down. We have advanced weapons, now. Soon every gang will have 'em, and then the tables will be turned." Those idiots seem to think that a few more weapons will help them win the war against superheroes. Did they forget that we had an unlimited armory in Stark Industries? We know that we won't be stopped by fancy firearms, so we begin to advance.

As we do, I see the rooftops surrounding us lined with heroes. There has to be at least a quarter of the heroes in New York, which is enough to beat a hundred gang members. Their eyes scan the rooftops with shock and fear; they realize why no back up from their gang has shown up, much like I do.

Yet I begin to realize: these criminals aren't stealing weapons to peddle to kids or kill cops; they are taking them to even the odds against the armada that is us. We've been driving them to new levels, they would never be able to defeat us; we grow twice as fast as they do.

I look at the "heroes" surrounding the street, ready to overtake this insignificant group, none of them doing it because it is necessary, or the right thing to do. The super-powered criminals at least are real about their actions and reasons, and have purpose. They believe in what they are doing. I no longer can believe in this; we are the ones using the numbers now. I walk to the group of frightened childlike criminals, slowly and calmly.

"Leave, just go, take what you have and leave." I command.

My partner runs up to me, with disappointment and amazement on his face. "What are you doing, Wolverine? We can't let them go, they're criminals." He is confused. He looked up to me; saw me as his hero, above everybody else. I put my claws to his face and make him stare right at the points of them. This would be devastating to him.

"Step away and nobody touch them! I'm going with them." I wasn't sure how this decision would turn out, but I knew I couldn't keep going as I have been. I walk away with what I suppose are now my new partners. Nobody touches us, nobody says anything. I know I won't be able to stop every superhero in New York, but at least now it is a fairer fight. My former colleagues would call me scum-bag, and say that I don't care about the people of New York, but neither do they. They don't care about protecting the people anymore, now it's about victory over the criminals. We used to be honorable, we used to have a purpose, but that was only way back when.


End file.
